


Fluffers

by DementedPixie



Series: Demented Pixie's Pros Fic [13]
Category: The Professionals (TV 1977)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, London Underground, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:47:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22649641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DementedPixie/pseuds/DementedPixie
Summary: Doyle makes a new friend underground.PLEASE DO NOT RE-POST THIS STORY ON ANY OTHER PLATFORM.
Relationships: William Bodie/Ray Doyle
Series: Demented Pixie's Pros Fic [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1264832
Kudos: 5





	Fluffers

**Author's Note:**

> My name is Demented Pixie and I’m a Pros fan, but that hasn’t always been my name. If you knew me as In Love With Both and you’re a friend, then you’ll already know why I left the fandom some years back. But, hey, a girl can change her mind, and I have therefore decided to re-share my Professionals fanfiction on this amazing Archive – no changes, no improvements, no alterations. I’ll be posting them just as they were written. No comments, no trolls, and no betas. Just me and my stories. I’m sharing them so that they can take their place in the archive, but I’m also sharing them for the Pros generation, for those future generations yet to discover Bodie and Doyle, and for Sandra, who has never ceased waving pompoms for all Pros fanfiction writers.  
> The following story was written by me in 2011.

Fluffers  
By ILWB

The mouse yawned. He felt he was entitled, after all it had been a very productive day. 

Of course the mouse wasn’t to know that it was the week before Christmas. He only knew that an inordinately large amount of humans had stood on the platform today, blissfully ignorant of the flurry of activity beneath their feet as their edible rubbish was energetically recycled. Even now the mouse could hardly move, stuffed full as he was of Twix crumbs and the corner of a cheese sandwich. His body clock told him the station should be quiet by now, but there was a subtle noise that awoke him from his bloated slumber - the crackle of a plastic wrapper. Trained from an early age never to ignore a possible food source, he poked his head out of the mouse hole to investigate. 

The words ‘mouse hole’ tend to conjure up images of a symmetrical, neat opening, probably surrounded by roses in true Walt Disney fashion. In stark contrast this was more of an indentation in the road stone, a hole no more than an inch wide, cleverly hidden in the ancient, dirty black brickwork directly under the platform. 

As the mouse emerged he realised his instincts were correct. Directly above his head a pair of human legs swung over the platform edge. This had to be worth a look...

Doyle checked his watch for what must be the twentieth time. 2.30am. The last tube had trundled through at midnight scattered with the remains of theatre goers and exhausted shoppers. He’d been surprised by how busy things got after that. A special tube train labelled ‘Staff Only’ was quickly followed by a crimson Royal Mail tube, something Doyle had no idea even existed. Then a gang of manual workers wearing overalls and fluorescent vests had made their way along the track, nodding in his direction as they lumbered off into the darkness. 

And then he’d been left alone. If he wasn’t so worried about his missing partner then he might have started to feel a little claustrophobic at being underground completely by himself. But he’d been assured that he would be able to get out at ground level any time and so, he waited. 

He tried to ignore his dry throat that was being made increasingly worse by the hot airless atmosphere and he fervently wished he’d had the foresight to bring along a flask. His bum eventually growing numb from the metal bench he walked the length of the platform and back before sitting on the edge of the platform, swinging his legs over the side. In the distance he could hear the faint sound of pneumatic drills as the workmen set to. 

It was then that he saw the mouse. His eyes narrowed as he carefully regarded the tiny creature, trying to work out what it was. He assumed mouse, but it was completely black which he guessed made it pretty unusual. And then of course he realised. It was filthy dirty, covered in soot. He smiled at it, wondering if it had been born as white as snow. Reaching into his jacket pocket he pulled out a small packet of crackers that he’d nicked from the staff canteen earlier and crumbled some pieces over the track bed below him. He watched as the mouse ran from crumb to crumb picking them up and stashing them away in what appeared to be a makeshift mouse larder. 

“Watch you don’t get electrocuted,” he advised. 

The mouse sat upright with its front claws held close to its chest, bright white whiskers twitching in Doyle’s direction. 

The position looked so much like begging that Doyle found himself saying “Eat that first and then we’ll see.”

Somewhat remarkably the mouse hurriedly set about eating the last of the crumbs, then looked expectantly back up at his new human friend.

Doyle couldn’t help but laugh. “Bloody hell. Go on then,” he said, crumbling more cracker. As he watched the happy rodent going about his task, his smile gradually faded as his thoughts turned back to his partner. He checked his watch again. Soon. It had to be soon. It was an unusual place for a drop, it smacked of someone with inside knowledge. How else were they going to get down here and out again undetected? 

The noise of people approaching stirred him from his thoughts. Looking up his eyes opened wide at the group of a dozen or so women, clothed in overalls and with their hair tied up in colourful headscarves, meticulously cleaning the track as they made their way along the line. They were chatting away to each other, the choice language as colourful as their headwear, hardly noticing Doyle until they were virtually level with him. 

“Hello me duck,” said one, cheerfully, as she looked across at him. “What’s a nice boy like you doing in a nasty place like this?”

A little flustered by the number of lecherous and somewhat toothless grins that came his way, he tried hard to regain his confidence. “Just waiting for a mate,” he said, shrugging nonchalantly. 

“Oooh!” said another. “Is he as good looking as you?”

Doyle ran his fingers through his curls. “Well,” he said, “he says he’s more of the tall dark and beautiful type.” The echo of ‘and engagingly modest’ ran through his head and brought his mood crashing down around his knees. 

“Really?” said another woman, her cackling laugh harsh enough to strip paint. “Well if we find him we’ll let you know, sweetheart!”

Another woman piped up “After we’ve finished with him!” Their combined laughter bounced off the curved walls in a huge wave of sound. 

Buckets and brushes clanging the women continued along the line, cleaning as they went, laughing heartily at the attractive young man who they assumed had been daft enough or drunk enough to miss the last train home. 

He breathed a sigh of relief as they disappeared into the darkness. Looking down, he saw the mouse reappear from its hidey hole. He’d obviously decided to hide from the cleaners and probably did so every night. 

“Expect you’re used to ‘em,” commented Doyle, sighing in frustration as he checked his watch yet again. “Where the hell are they,” he muttered, half to himself and half to the mouse, who looked up at him and twitched his whiskers again. “I’m waiting for a mate,” he explained to the inquisitive face. “And talking to a mouse.” He rolled his eyes upwards as he realised. “Bodie would have a field day.”

Bodie... Being handcuffed to a high security prisoner had meant that when the prisoner had been violently and unexpectedly sprung, Bodie had been taken too. Cowley had been furious and focused all of CI5’s energies into recovering the witness, leaving Doyle to work solo on the delicate business of getting his partner back alive and in one piece. Using his contacts he made sure that word went around that the unnecessary death of a CI5 agent would start a costly and mutually unwanted war and then, almost three days later, Doyle received an anonymous tip off. And so it was that he found himself waiting at Tottenham Court Road tube station on the Westbound platform, well after the last train had gone. 

He didn’t care how long it took. In different circumstances it could easily be Bodie searching for him and he knew without doubt that if that ever happened, his partner would never give up. Years of working in the closest partnership Doyle had ever had the privilege to be part of, meant he knew without doubt that Bodie felt the same in return – that Doyle would never give up on him either. 

And so he would wait here forever if he had to as long as it meant the final return of his best mate. 

The sound of harsh female voices made him look up with a start. Why were they coming back? He’d assumed the cleaners would carry on through the tunnels until the first train was due. 

“Oye! Lover!” called a voice. As Doyle looked he saw one of the women hurrying back along the line towards him, waving her hands in the air to get his attention. “I’d get down here if I was you!”

Without further thought Doyle jumped down from the platform to the track bed and started to make his way towards the woman, stepping boldly forward two sleepers at a time. 

“Don’t worry,” she called as he reached her. “They turn the power off when we’re down here.” 

With a slight shock he realised he’d completely forgotten the advice he’d given the mouse about the risks of electrocution. Then a rubber gloved hand grabbed his arm and started pulling him down the tunnel. Blindly, he allowed himself to be guided into the darkness, his eyes straining to get used to the lack of light. Now he was actually in the tunnel he could see recessed lights every 20 feet or so that lit up the area enough for the cleaners and track repairers to do their work. And in the distance he could just make out the group of cleaning women, gathered around a dark shape on the floor. He shrugged himself free of the woman’s grasp and ran the remaining distance, falling onto the floor next to what he knew with every certainty was the body of his partner. 

The women fell silent as they watched the anxious young man checking the body for life signs. Satisfied that Bodie was at least alive Doyle pulled his R/T from his jacket pocket and flipped the switch, only to receive an earful of static. 

“There’s an emergency phone,” said one of the cleaners, realising quickly what he was trying to do. She pointed into the distance. “Back on the platform.” 

Before Doyle could act on this information Bodie groaned and started to come around, his movements jerky as he rolled over onto his hands and knees, instantly trying to sit up.

“Hang on, old son,” said Doyle, slipping an arm around his back to support him. “Not so fast.” 

Bodie ignored both him and his audience, seemingly determined to get to his feet regardless of any injury he may have. 

“Bloody pig headed...” Doyle bit back the stream of insults and concentrated on helping his partner to get safely upright. “Give me a hand,” he asked in the general direction of the group of cleaners and the woman who had come to find him on the platform immediately stepped forward, ducking under Bodie’s arm to take his weight. 

Doyle made sure Bodie was standing relatively steady then checked him over again, tutting at the still bleeding cut on his brow. 

Bodie weakly pushed Doyle away, making it quite clear he wasn’t in the mood for a fuss. “Leave it, Doyle,” he grumbled, his stubborn plea for independence ruined as he swayed violently, his eyelids flickering. 

“Right,” said Doyle, moving around the other side to provide him with the support he so obviously needed, regardless of his wishes. “Let’s get to that phone.”

“Mind the rails,” called one of the other women after them as the trio made their way awkwardly back along the tunnel towards the brightly lit platform. 

“Who’s this?” said Bodie, squinting through one puffy eye at the tough old bird who was currently easily holding up more than her fair share of his bodyweight.

“Track cleaner,” said Doyle, throwing her a genuine smile. “Nice lady.”

Bodie concentrated hard as he carefully negotiated the rough railway sleepers, wincing with pain as his foot slipped on the blackened wood. “They’re called fluffers,” he muttered. 

A vision flashed into Doyle’s head of a woman giving a bored looking man a blow job. “Eh?” said Doyle, wondering exactly how many porn film fluffers Bodie had come across in his obviously colourful life. 

Bodie sighed. For an ex London copper there was a lot Doyle still had to learn about the City he’d lived and worked in for so many years. “People who clean the tube line at night,” he said, pausing for a moment to catch his breath. 

“Oh!” Doyle felt himself blushing. He was suddenly shocked to realise there was every possibility that his life had been a tad more colourful than Bodie’s after all. 

And the mouse yawned...


End file.
